


All Your Secrets Found Out (No More Room for Doubt)

by vivilove



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Declarations Of Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Morning After, Past Rape/Torture (briefly mentioned), Pillow Talk, Post Season 7, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-21 23:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivilove/pseuds/vivilove
Summary: Love, secrets discovered, sexual healing, and what the future holds for them now are all on Jon and Sansa's minds the morning after Jon learns of his parentage and Sansa comforts him in the night.Switches between Jon and Sansa's POV throughout.





	All Your Secrets Found Out (No More Room for Doubt)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amymel86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/gifts).



> For Amy...for working hard to spread the Jonsa faith. Love you, dear :)

The cold, winter winds howled outside the castle walls. Stray snowflakes and drafts of chilling air found their way into the chamber. The fire had died down but soon a servant would likely come to stoke it. He should probably stoke it himself. The door was still barred and he didn’t wish for anyone to disturb them just yet.

But here in the bed, Jon was content beneath the furs with her warm, bare body nestled next to his.

A faint glow filled the room from the day that was dawning beyond the shuttered windows, the snow-covered ground reflecting the weak winter sun to brighten their darkest days.

She was lying on her side, turned away from him. Her long auburn hair was unplaited and covering her neck and the pillows. The fiery red that glowed like copper by the fire last night was muted in the morning light. The soft silk of it slipped between his fingers as he brought one strand to his lips.

He propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over to look at her face as she slept, so peaceful and lovely in repose. He gently kissed her upper arm before moving to her shoulder and then down to her neck.

Sansa’s eyes fluttered open and a quiet laugh escaped as his beard tickled the sensitive skin at her throat, his warm, full lips kissing their way toward her cheek.

“Good morning,” she said, rolling to face him.

“Good morning,” he replied. He laid back down on his pillow, crooking his arm under his head. His rich, dark eyes were loving and kind as he gazed at her. “Are you alright?” he asked as his free hand pushed her hair back out of her face.

“I am.”

“Did I…did I hurt you?” he asked next as his eyes filled with a different sort of tenderness, one of worry and concern for her.

_Did you hurt me? Perhaps you have in the past…but not last night._

“No, Jon. You did not hurt me at all.”

He had worried about that. He knew what she’d suffered. She laid a hand to his chest though, over his heart, and her blue eyes spoke of nothing but truth when she replied. He touched her face and his heart filled with love when she nuzzled into his palm. He caressed her cheek and smiled.

“You never used to smile at me much when we were younger,” she said when she noticed.

“Aye…I didn’t smile so often then.”

“You smiled at Robb. You smiled at Arya…and Bran and Rickon.”

“Perhaps I did,” he agreed, looking up at the ceiling with a pang of discomfort. “But I was always with Robb as a boy whereas I spent little time with you. I’d never have seen so much of Arya if she hadn’t made a point of seeking me out.”

“That is true,” she conceded.

“I smile at you now though,” he said as he turned to her face once more.

“You do,” she said softly, smiling at him as she stroked his beard. “I like that you do. I like your smile.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, his cheeks blossoming with color as an absurd sort of pride grew within him at the thought of Sansa liking his smiles…and at the thought of being able to make her smile in return.

“How are you feeling…about everything?” she asked in a cautious tone.

She’d seen Jon in despair before but never like what she’d seen last night when she’d sought him out after he’d learned the truth about everything. She had thought he’d still be with Bran when she’d knocked on her little brother’s door. But Bran had been alone, staring into his fire and ruminating on other matters. He had told her to find him though.

“He needs you, Sansa,” Bran had said with no further explanation.

She’d found him in the crypts. She’d been torn between the crypts and the godswood but night had already begun to fall and the crypts would be warmer than the godswood.

He’d been at his most vulnerable then, heart and soul ripped out and laid bare at their feet. Nothing but the bones of the dead and two stone statues for company as he railed against promises that had been made and words that had never been spoken to him.

She hadn’t come seeking him to offer comfort at first. She’d been angry with him since his return…since before his return when she’d learned of his decision.

But she did not turn away from him. Steel her skin might be but beneath that her heart still beat as strongly as it ever had.

Grief, guilt, misery and anger had raged within him but he’d hid it all from Bran. He’d waited until he was alone with the dead to let it out in a howl of anguish that tore blood from his throat as he stumbled to his knees.

His cheeks had still been bathed with tears when he’d realized she was there. His eyes sought hers, waiting for her face to harden into that same cold mask that Lady Catelyn had always shown him.

Instead, she’d spread her arms to him. He’d crumpled into them like a child who sought his mother’s comfort when he bloodied his nose or skinned his knee. _How would you know what that was like?_ he’d thought bitterly.

He’d wetted the bodice of her gown with his sobs as she’d stroked his hair and told him he was still a part of them, still part of their pack no matter who had fathered him.

They’d come to her chambers after and talked by the fire, long into the night. The things that had happened, the regrets over things that would never be and, most of all, the ramifications of this news were discussed. Sansa, ever ready to deal with a new challenge, was already listing their options, the best route to take towards survival.

And at long last…they’d talked of those things that had been left unsaid between them for so long. That tug and pull they’d felt in each other’s company since they’d reunited, that unspoken desire that had frightened them both.

It was when she had risen to refresh his ale that he’d clasped her hand; a sudden movement, urgent and almost rough. It had caught her off guard for Jon rarely touched her and when he did those touches were slow and tender, always allowing her to move away if she chose. After all...he knew what she’d suffered.

She’d looked down at his callused hand still clasping her softer one and then into his eyes, shining with emotion and begging for her acceptance…her forgiveness…her love. She had granted all three in the form of a kiss.

 _“How are you feeling…about everything?”_ she’d asked.

Jon sighed and remembered the soft press of her lips against his own last night. He had never believed himself a romantic but he knew that her kiss, their first kiss, would stay with him until the day he died, a moment he would treasure all his life.

“How am I feeling?” he repeated to her and to himself. “I’m feeling…”

He wasn’t certain. Confusion, guilt, anger…these things were still there. But they had softened at Sansa’s touch and diminished under Sansa’s lips.

Misery and conflict lingered. _Who am I now?_ However, the feel of her body pressed against his own, her fingers running through his loosened hair, her long legs wrapped around his waist while the heat of her cunt was wrapped around his cock…her sighs and moans and kisses and the way her blue eyes had shone with love…all of it brought sweet relief to the sharpest torment. Only a numb, dull ache remained.

“I feel many things but this morning…here with you…I am happy,” he said finally.

He reached for her then pulling her into his arms and kissing her passionately. She gasped at the hunger in his eyes and the urgency of his kiss but did not withdraw. She welcomed his continued and insistent nips and pecks at her lips, cheeks and jaw and eagerly returned his ardor with kisses of her own.

Last night’s coupling had been a loving but delicate affair. He’d not wanted to hurt her. She could tell that from the way he’d been so careful, moving slowly, making sure she was ready well before he ever entered her.

In fact, he’d gone so slowly she’d nearly come undone from want and waiting. She’d been tempted to scream that he would not break her, that he could not break her so long as he loved her. But, she had wanted to know tenderness and joy too after knowing only cruelty and pain in the past.

Now, things were different. He rolled atop of her swiftly and mouthed a trail of kisses down her throat, between her breasts before stopping to give pleasure to each one.

That same sensual heat she’d felt the night before pooled in her core from his wickedly delightful suckling at her breasts. Her hands grasped the furs tightly as her hips bucked beneath him, wanting more than anything for him to sink deep inside and fill her once more.

It was wrong to tease her so but he yearned to make her want him with the same abandon that he wanted her. And he could not resist indulging in the worship of every inch of Sansa’s porcelain skin.

“Jon,” she begged.

“Soon. Relax and let me love you.”

He moved away from her teats at last, only pausing long enough to relish her ragged breathing that he had brought about, and kissed his way down towards her navel. In the half light of early morning he could see her scars more clearly than he had last night. The thought must’ve occurred to her, too.

She clutched his shoulders suddenly, stopping him from reaching those horrid scars, reminders of the one who had left his dreadful mark on more than just her soul.

Last night, with only the firelight illuminating their nakedness and them immediately seeking the warmth of the furs as they explored one another, she’d not thought of them. But in the blueish light of dawn, she was ashamed for Jon to see them, to see how another had tried to break her…how he nearly had.

The ugly red slashes could still tear her open. Long she had tried to make peace with them but they still made her feel undesirable, like something less. She didn’t let anyone see them. No maid servant saw Lady Sansa without at least her shift on. Only Sansa saw the marks he’d left behind.

_And Arya…you let Arya see them once._

She choked on a sob and begged him to stop.

Jon froze as soon as her hands grasped his shoulders and he felt her stiffen beneath him. Her broken plea for him to stop pierced his heart…as sharp as any sword.

 _You deserved a thousand deaths...and you shouldn’t get to hurt her anymore from beyond the grave_.

“Sansa…”

“Don’t. Not there. I’m scarred and ugly,” she said as she began to cry.

“You’re not. You’re beautiful. I have scars, too,” he said.

She’d kissed them last night, she’d kissed each wound with feather-light sweetness.

“Your scars are different than mine,” she argued with her hands trying to cover both her belly and her thighs. “They remind me how remarkable you are. They killed you and yet you live.”

“Your scars are no different than mine,” he whispered as he pulled her hands away from what she tried to hide. He kissed one and then another before he continued. “Much as I hate what was done to you, your scars remind me how remarkable _you_ are. You lived, Sansa. You suffered and endured and lived when others would not have. You amaze me every day from that simple fact alone.”

He did not consider himself to be gifted when it came to words. The gods knew no one else did either. He’d always thought his talents lay in another direction, a more martial one.

But Sansa ceased her weeping immediately as he spoke. His words apparently wiping away her fears and shame. _She should feel no shame...not ever_.

Her eyes widened in disbelief for just a moment before she remembered that he did not lie…not to her anyway. Her hands drifted away from where she’d tried to hide her scars and returned to his shoulders. She pulled him back up her body for a kiss, deep and filled with sweet longing.

“May I?” he asked, dipping his chin down towards her body and indicating what he wanted.

“You may,” she answered as he thumbed the last of her tears off her cheeks.

She gazed down at the dark curls covering his head as he moved ever closer to the red curls that covered her mound. She tensed only slightly now as he softly kissed the marks on her belly and thighs with holy reverence.

She relaxed with every passing minute and her legs fell open at last. When his lips brushed her sex, she shuddered with desire. She reached down to grasp her hair. She needed something to hold onto.

When he felt her nails rake his scalp, he grinned against her folds. He would show her how she was meant to be loved, how a goddess like Sansa was meant to be worshipped and adored.

He inhaled the scent of her arousal and swiped his tongue along her center to taste her sweet tangy musk. She uttered a keening prayer. He flicked his tongue teasingly against her nub and she growled out a muffled curse of need. She was wet and writhing, willing him to finish her. He obliged by ravishing her with his mouth and fingers; licking, sucking and fingering her until she quaked and trembled while crying out his name.

Sansa floated in a gauzy bliss, her fingers lightly traced her nipples that had pebbled with from chilly air of her chambers or what Jon had just done. _Perhaps both_. Her mouth hung open. She lay there gaping in surprise at the pleasure he had brought with his mouth and hands alone.

Last night had been good…very good. But this was something different, something new and unexpected.

Jon rose from between her thighs, a self-satisfied smile on his normally broody face. He wiped at his sopping wet beard and Sansa blushed when she realized how his beard could’ve grown so wet. He kissed her mouth to let her taste herself. He stifled a moan when her tongue darted out and licked his lips clean.

“Was that alright?” he asked as he broke from their kiss.

He knew the answer. She scowled for a moment and thought she might slap that smug smirk right off his face but she didn’t.

“Yes,” she answered. The smile that was creeping across her face in answer to his own would not be denied and they were soon grinning at each other liked fools. _Fools in love_. “I want you to...inside me now,” she said next as innocent and sweet as any maid.

Jon felt a warmth spread through his chest at her bashful expression and sky-blue eyes.

“I want that, too,” he said. “Come here.” He rolled to his back and grasped her hips, tugging at her to straddle him. “Like this, love.”

He positioned her but then laid back and released his hold of her. He would let instinct guide her when she was ready.

Her eyes flashed in confusion and then with appreciation. This was new for her. He was giving her control, letting her lead. Something very new indeed. Men took. It was what they did. But not Jon…he did not take. He gave. He gave her power. He gave her love. He trusted her.

Her initially baffled look was endearing, just like when he’d left the North in her hands. But then he realized how Sansa had been underestimated for years and how she’d been made to feel powerless again and again. Giving her control was more than just letting her experience a new way of love making. It was a testament of his love and faith in her. He would gladly give it all to her. She held his heart. Why not let her take all that remained of him?

She grasped his manhood tentatively before giving it a slight squeeze. She nearly jumped at his hiss.

“You’re fine,” he grunted when her face fell and she started apologizing. “You didn’t hurt me…not at all,” he assured her next.

She stroked him uncertainly at first. She felt the weight of him and marveled at how hard his shaft was. Yet, the skin was soft like silk. A caress and then another. And now, it was Jon’s breath that grew ragged. His eyes darkened and the color was nearly obliterated by the widening black centers.

Sansa was torn between watching his face and watching what she was doing to him. His jaw was clenched but not in anger…more like he was holding onto something. She suspected she knew what that was. He bit at his lip and she wanted to kiss him. She would…just not yet. His hands were fisted in the furs and he moaned her name.

She looked down at his cock that she was rubbing rhythmically now, up and down. There was wetness leaking from the tip.

The ache inside her own body grew again. Her peak from earlier had passed and she longed for another. She scooted up his hips slightly, bringing her cunny closer to him. She slid the head across her folds and closed her eyes, enjoying the slickness that made it glide across her smoothly, inflaming her desire even more when it made contact with her nub.

She heard his pitiful groan and had mercy on him. Centering him, she sank down over him, taking him in inch by inch. There was a slight stretch with this new position. She took him in as far as he could go. There was a fleeting pain to this new fullness but it quickly passed as pleasure took over.

Sansa rocked her hips experimentally and Jon’s eyes rolled back. He bucked his in response and then muttered an apology.

She brought a finger to his lips. “Don’t apologize.”

He nodded and let her move. She shifted and searched for the pace that suited her best. It all felt so good though. It was hard to decide. Jon lay there letting her find her rhythm, his eyes locked on hers and filled with adoration.

“Touch me, Jon.”

He nearly wept in relief. It’d been agony to not touch her but this was about giving Sansa something…control of what happened to her when she was in bed with a man. He moved his hands back to her small waist and let his fingertips ghost across her ass.

“I want you to move,” she said next.

He leaned up to capture a nipple to suck. Sansa’s delighted gasp filled the chamber. His hips began to thrust in time with hers bringing sparks of ecstasy to them both.

“Please…don’t stop,” she said in a desperate whimper.

 _Never_ , he answered in his mind. He couldn’t have formed the words just then. His mouth was occupied and when it wasn’t he drew in great gasps of air.

Sansa found an angle that brought her deeper pleasure and dug her knees into the mattress and braced her hands against his chest as she chased her peak. Her eyes darkened and her breathing grew heavier.

“Yes,” she moaned quietly in the still morning.

Her cunt tightened around him and Jon knew she was close…but then so was he.

“Yes,” she cried again, louder this time.

Her hands curled into fists against his chest, her nails scraped his flesh. He gripped her hips harder now and thrusted more rapidly.

“Come, Sansa. Come for me,” he said, his voice deep and husky, making her clench more tightly around him. “Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Gods, Sansa…fuck… _unnn_ …don’t stop…fucking me, love.” A litany of cursing poured from his lips but Sansa did not mind it.

“ _Uhhh_ …Jon.”

She nearly tasted fear then for this was too much like coming apart at the seams, something that would make her weak, something she couldn’t control.

“Don’t think, Sansa. Don’t doubt. Just feel.”

She did as he said and opened herself up to that pleasure once more, slamming down hard on top of him thrice more and losing herself in the sensation. Her peaked crashed over her and she soared. She felt dizzy and she fell. But not a bit of it hurt. It was the most exquisite sort of release.

“Oh, Jon!” she shouted.

He could hold off no more. She called his name and he came. He grunted her name in response before he spilled within her.

She lay atop him, having collapsed at last. Their chest heaved from the exertion. They panted, struggling to catch their breath as they stared at each other, eyes roaming the face of the other.

“I love you,” he said then whilst stroking her soft cheek. “I have loved you for so long but denied it. I thought of Father and couldn’t be that man, a man who wanted his own sister. And, I couldn’t take anymore from you when so much had been taken from you already.”

Sansa’s heart ached at his words…but in the best way.

“I love you, too. I didn’t right away. I loved you but just as my brother at first. I had to learn to trust again. But once I learned to trust you and saw that you trusted me too…my feelings changed, subtly at first. They crept up on me. I did not expect it…and then I tried to ignore it. But I can’t ignore it anymore.”

They laid with their limbs entwined, Jon on his back and Sansa lying against him as he held her in his arms. He caressed her back and let his fingers card through her beautiful hair.

There was a knock at the door but Sansa dismissed them with a quick word. The spell was broken though and she rose at last to wash and put on her shift. Jon threw on his breeches then stoked the dying embers of the fire back to life.

“What do we do now?” she asked when they’d returned to the cocoon of warmth her furs provided and the happiness to be found in each other’s arms…if only for a bit longer.

Jon kissed the top of her head and pondered the question. “I’ve already lost the confidence of the Northern houses.”

“Yes…but you know the enemy. You said we needed the dragons and dragon glass to have any hope. You needed for her to not break her promises.”

“Aye,” he said. “I could not trust her word. I knew it would cost me my crown…but, just as I had hoped, they crowned you instead of kneeling to her.”

“Don’t remind me,” she groaned, thinking of the mountain of troubles that awaited her once they left her chambers.

He smiled at her grousing, knowing full well the burdens she was thinking of. He would help her anyway that he could, provided some angered Northerner didn’t try to kill him first.

“Once they learn whose son I am, I doubt I’ll be welcome in any part of the North.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Winterfell is your home. You will always be welcome here. And you are Lord Commander of our army. I’m more concerned about what _her_ reaction will be when she learns of your parentage, when she learns of your claim.”

“Yes…I imagine she will not be happy,” he said dryly with an indifferent shrug. “But that is a fight for a different day. The true enemy is on the march. He will reach us soon.”

Sansa cringed at the thought. Jon would be in the thick of the fighting, in grave danger from a relentless foe. The ugly chair in the South was meaningless compared to what approached from the North to kill them all.

Then, another thought crossed her mind and all other thoughts diminished before it.

“Jon, what if I…if we just…” she gestured towards her flat tummy.

“I’ve no wish to father a bastard on you, Sansa. If you’ll have me, I’ll marry you. Once we have broken our fast, we can ask Arya, Bran and a small assembly of the lords and household to witness our marriage in the godswood.” She chewed at her bottom lip, her eyes were troubled. “Unless you don’t want to,” he said with a sinking heart. “I’d never force you.”

“No, I do want to and I will,” she said as a radiant smile broke through the worried expression. “We are cousins…just like our grandparents were. Some may grumble when we explain all the facts but it will solidify our house and the North must be united…now more than ever. But, Jon…if I give you a babe, will it be a Targaryen or…”

“A Stark, Sansa. Our child would be a Stark. I have lived all my life as Jon Snow. I have only ever longed to be a Stark. Let my son or daughter be one.”

“A Stark,” she agreed as the last of her concerns faded.

Two hours later, they married beneath the heart tree according to the ways of the old gods as the snow fell softly around them.

Three days after that, Bran told Jon of the Night King’s progress and the Army of the Living prepared to leave Winterfell and wage war against the Army of the Dead.

Sansa watched from the ramparts the day her husband rode to war.

He looked back at her once more before he left, a wave and a gentle smile upon his face as the snow fell despite their sorrow in parting and the danger facing them all.

 _I like your smile_ , she thought. _Let us hope I may see it again_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed my Jonsa dreams for Season 8. Thanks for reading :)


End file.
